Place is more than it seems, there's a crater hidden deep inside. Junkyard of pre-War labs scattered across the crater's surface, all still running... like this one. Elijah's dissecting these centers, one by one... tracked him to an old Chinese-American internment camp. Survivors, ghouls, have bomb collars. Robots moved in when I tried to intercept him... Elijah sent the camp ghouls against us both, like walking bombs. Got hit by the explosions, woke up here. Guess the medical robots were programmed to bring wounded victims from the camp to this center. Some kind of Auto-Doc prototype lab... manned by corpses trapped inside suits that keep them moving, no idea why. Not sure how long I'm going to last... cut open my head like a lot of the humans I've seen here, feel strange, can talk, but can't hack the term...

Ulysses: No denying that. Proof's here in this crater, all around us. Your tribe, the Brotherhood - haven't met many of you. Wanted to. Thought you might be the last chance for the Mojave... the West. The East. But you're all the same mind, obsessed.

Ulysses: Two are more alike than you know, too wrapped in the wrong bits of history to see ahead. Not judging. I know how it is. People are like couriers, you and him. Sometimes don't even know the message they bring. You all had a new flag. Thought maybe new ideas along with it. What you believe isn't any better than the Bear or Bull. No future in either.

Christine: So says the man with the Old World flag on his back. America, the Commonwealth... burned away.

Ulysses: America sleeps. And until it's dead, I carry it. Just like I carried you. More than hope. Belief. There's voices here in the Big Empty, I want to talk to them. Not like your Elijah did. Got questions. Want to hear history give its answer.

Ulysses: Get [her/him] to come to me. Got a message for [her/him], like the message [she/he] had for me. Make them walk the road west, straight and true, sink their feet in Old World ash. Let storms tear at them. See the Divide. See what happened.

Christine: The Divide? There's nothing there.

Ulysses: Nothing there? Like the Big Empty? The Sierra Madre? No, the Old World sleeps there, sure as the flag I carry. The Courier knows the way. And at the Divide, [her/he] and I - there, we'll have an ending to things.